Silence
by Your Angel of Music
Summary: Kay and 2004 Movie based. When a young mute girl is brought half dead into Christine's old dressing room, Erik finds himself forced to once again remember his past...no matter how painful it may be. M, for some mature themes, just to be on the safe side.
1. A Room Full of Pain

This is the second piece of Phantom Phiction I have posted on this site, and my first full story. I have about fifteen chapters written, and I'm still getting the hang of everything when it comes to uploading phictions, so bare with me.

This story is basically Kay and 2004 Movie based, as these are the versions I know best, and I am not yet confident enough to attempt a full-blown Leroux/Kay phiction. I love both Kay's Erik and the movie Erik, and thought it would be interesting to mix their personalities together.

This is set three years after the 2004 Movie is set.

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera...if I did, it would be pretty vain of me to sit and write phictions about it. I'm not vain, am I reflection in the mirror...?

Reviews welcome. (As in please, my one shot only got one!) and constructive criticism is encouraged.

**_Silence_**

**_A Room Full of Pain_**

_Madame Giry_

The little creature they carried into the room was hardly a human being at all. If I had not known better I would have sworn she was already dead, a skeleton, with a few thin pieces of skin hanging from her bones. My hand flew to my mouth as they laid her upon the bed, gesturing wildly that she needed some water, and I pulled myself together as best I could to retrieve what they needed.

It was only when I moved closer to tend to the many wounds that covered her small body that I noticed her chest moving slowly up and down, and I realised she was not dead. My eyes scanned her thin frame, taking in ever bruise, every cut…her body was naked apart from a sheet that had been wrapped around her body.

"What happened?" I whispered, hardly able to speak as the gravity of what had been done to her set in. "Who did this?"

"We do not know, Madame Giry," Nicolas, a young man from the ballet, replied. "We found her in the streets and thought it best to bring her to you."

"It would have been kinder if she had died," I said softly, dabbing at a fierce wound on her upper arm.

"W-we think she was raped, Madame," it was hard for him to say it, I knew that, and I tried my best to reassuring, though in the presence of such evil doings it was difficult for me as well.

"That is most likely," I answered, my voice wavering. "Poor child, she cannot be more than seventeen years old." Nicolas and the other boys, who I had taught and cared for since childhood, were obviously in a state of shock themselves, and so I sent them away, instructing them to be good and ready for rehearsals tomorrow. They nodded, trying to not to notice the poor creature merely metres away from them.

Once they were gone I could focus my full attention onto her. As I did, I realised the full extent of her injuries. One of her legs ankles was dislocated, and she had some awful cuts on her side and back, many of them dirty and festering. I wondered how long she had been outside, how long the torture had gone on for. I gently pushed some of her once blonde hair, now matted with dried blood, from her face.

"Why would anyone do this to you?" I sighed, thinking for a second that I saw her eyelids flicker, but it was just for a fleeting second, and soon she was as lifeless as she had been before.

"Poor child," I whispered again, tying a cloth around a gash on her forehead tenderly. "What kind of life have you known?"

_Erik_

I could not believe that someone was in that room again…ithat room/i, the one she swore never to let anyone enter again. The room they all believed cursed, a rumour which I did not try to quash as it suited me well. As Antoinette left the room, I appeared before her, startling her a little, but she soon she regained her composure.

"You promised me you would never…" but she cut me off.

"I promised you, Erik, but there was nowhere else where we would put her apart from the ballet girl's dormitory."

"Then I advise that is where you put her," there was a warning tone to my voice, and she turned away from me.

"It is not possible that she stay there, as we could not possibly care for her in the correct manner."

"Why did your pathetic little ballet boys not take her straight to hospital as any fool with two brain cells would." She narrowed her eyes, looking straight at me.

"They are good people Erik, do not insult them in such a way," she sighed, folding her arms frustratedly. "They were shocked, they are only young, and they brought her to the first person that crossed their mind. Anyway, the hospital would probably not treat her, as they would probably assume she was a prostitute off the streets."

"I instructed that no one ever use that room again," I snapped, feeling anger burning inside of me. "You swore to me…"

"Things change Erik, and circumstances occur when promises must be broken for the good of others. Sometimes we must look beyond ourselves and see what is best for someone else."

With that she walked away, back into the room where she had come. I was seething with anger, as I made my way down one of the many passageways that I had built for myself over the years. Ever since _Don Juan Triumphant_ and the disastrous aftermath, I have forbidden Antoinette to let anyone in that room, the room where Christine once was.

The Opera House was not nearly as badly damaged as the press made it out to be, just some minor things had to be done, and it was up and running again within nine months. I had returned long before that, to the robbed and pillaged shell of my former home…I had no where else to go. By the time the first Opera appeared on stage, I had rebuilt the statues, rebuilt the organ, rebuilt the lair, rebuilt my life…a life of solitude. The only things I did not rebuild were the mirrors.

Three years it had been, three years since she left me, three years since my heart was broken. I have learnt my lesson. I will never let myself be broken hearted again; I will never seek love. The girl in the room is a threat to the promise I made to myself. I promised I would never fall in love again.

I will_ never_ fall in love again.

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TBC...now, review my pretties (pleeaaase!?)


	2. With the Passing of Time

Thank you for your reviews. I couldn't see the story up on home page for Phantom, and was not sure whether anyone could find it. Maybe that's me and my technical difficulties…I always have them with new sites.

ToryD: Thank you for your comments. I'm glad you liked it.

MJ MOD: Thank you also for your constructive criticism. As a stickler for punctuation and spelling and grammar (etc.) I was positively kicking myself for making such mistakes. Thank you for pointing them out. And don't worry… this will not be a "girl falls into Erik's arms" kind of thing, because after a while they get boring. I know this. And to clear a few things up; although Erik pretends he has, he still has not rebuilt his heart after it was broken with Christine, and because this is the room where he spoke to her, trained her and fell in love with her, the pain he felt with Christine has a sort of link with her dressing room. Ere go, now that there is someone else in that dressing room, he feels threatened. All shall be revealed in the next chapter.

There is not much action in this chapter, just something clearing up what happened after Chapter One. I needed to put it in, as it is a bit of a scene setter, although it is not very exciting.

Thank you for your time. Constructive criticism always welcome!

Disclaimer: Yes, I own Phantom of the Opera. Monsieur Leroux at your service…yes, bonjour men in white coats…why have you put me in this strange, coat like contraption?

_Chapter 2_

**_With the Passing of Time_**

_Madame Giry_

As the weeks passed, she slowly began to recover from her horrific injuries. For the first few days, the only signs of life she gave were a few gasping breaths, and after a week she began to whimper in her unconscious state from the pain. I would sit by her, dabbing at her forehead, dressing and redressing her wounds, tilting cups of water to her lips.

At the end of the third week, many of her cuts had healed, but many more would leave vicious scars that she would probably have forever. She was able to sit up in bed, fully awake. But this was a severe misfortune on her part; she would sometimes just cry from the pain that was all over her body, and sometimes she would lie there with her eyes closed, teeth gritted against the agony.

It hurt me, knowing I could do nothing for her, and I was particularly strict with the girls of the ballet. Erik's ever watchful presence did nothing to help me either, and my temper grew shorter and shorter as the weeks past. He was pressuring me to move her to the ballet girls' dormitories as soon as possible, and I dreaded to think of what may happen if his orders were not obeyed. I, more than anyone in the Opera House, knew what consequences his temper could bring.

It was the last day of the sixth week when we finally helped her out of bed, and she walked a few feet on unsteady, weak legs. Very soon afterwards she collapsed into Nicolas's arms, and he helped her back onto the bed, before I shooed him out of the room, so I could focus my full attention on the poor child.

I tried in vain, all the time I was nursing her, to learn her name, her age, anything that could help me identify who she was, but apart from the cries of pain she gave, she was as silent as the countryside at midnight. She spoke not a word in all those six weeks, from the moment she came to the moment she began to walk unassisted.

She lay there in, for want of any stronger to word to describe it, in isilence/i

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_Erik_

I wanted the girl out of the room as soon as possible, and my impatience was beginning to grow. Antoinette insisted that she fully recover before she was moved, but it had been six and a half weeks and she was now walking for herself. I could see no reason why she should not be moved to the ballet girls' dormitories.

Finally, my frustration became too much and I confronted Antoinette angrily, just outside the room. She was tired from weeks of nursing and playing her part in Opera's upcoming production of a…how should I put it…somewhat iadjusted/i version of iDon Juan Triumphant/i. The new managers were sceptical, even more sceptical of my existence than Andre and Firmin had been when they first joined, and they had not heeded the warnings of the inhabitants of the Opera House.

I was angry at them, angry at the new performance, but most of all I was angry about the creature in what was once Christine's room. I thought of it as being contaminated, but I also felt threatened by her presence. The last girl to be in that room had torn my heart into little pieces, pieces that I was still salvaging after three years later. I was afraid that this room, that had brought me love before, and then brought me hartbreak, would do the same again, even though I had barely set eyes on the girl. I did not even want to risk it; it was as if the room was cursed.

"Antoinette, I insist that you move her from that room at once," I almost yelled, toning down my voice at the last minute to avoid being caught. "I will allow her to be in Christine's room no longer."

"Erik, Christine is gone, when are you going to accept that?" she hissed, her frustration and tiredness shining through as anger. "She cannot be moved just because of your selfishness."

"The world does not show compassion, Madame, and therefore neither will I," I spat, not even attempting to keep my temper in check. "Move her to the ballet girls' dormitories now."

"Erik, when will you learn that by simply using your temper you shall not achieve everything you wish for?" She sighed turning back to the room, and I caught her by the arm.

"I don't want anyone in there, Antoinette." I insisted, my voice dropping to a low whisper. She pulled out of my grasp and went back into the room, closing the door, until it remained open just a crack, and she looked at me through it.

"I know you're scared about falling in love again Erik, but I assure you that her being in this room will do you no harm," she said softly Just because she is in here does not mean what happened with Christine shall happen again. Not everyone is Christine. If you just leave her alone, then no harm will come of it." And with that, the door closed in my face, and I was left to my own thoughts.

TBC

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Merci, my friends. Your comments are always appreciated.


	3. Silent Songs

_**Chapter 3**_

**Silent Songs**

Thank you kindly for your reviews. I greatly appreciate it.

ToryD: Thank you for taking to time to read my story. I'm glad you like my writing (Nobody has ever said that before!) I'm extremely happy that you think it's unique, and once again thank you and I hope you keep reading.

MJ MOD: You as well, thank you for taking to the time to read and review (my word! You do like your long reviews do you not?!) I appreciate it when people spend time writing their reviews. I'm trying my best to stick by Erik's character (The Kay book and 2004 movie one mixed together…I like a bit of variety), and one thing I noticed was that he is not always a rational man, and sometimes feels that he can get something he wants if he intimidates people enough. That is why he is pushing dear old Mme Giry (I took her first name from Phantom of Manhattan…which is NOT to imply that I like that book in any way) into a corner, and also not doing the obvious thing.

I hope you will find the time to come and read some more of my story (which I will try and post an update every few days, and I have almost twenty chapters written. They are being modified a little every time thanks to your constructive criticism). And, perhaps, you could recommend it to other people (Because I like to get as much constructive criticism as a can get, and some nice chunky bits of feedback and suggestions do a world of good for an author's esteem). Cheers.

**Disclaimer: No, I am not Gaston Leroux! These strange men in white coats have helped me to realise this! I am actually Andrew Lloyd Webber, so therefore I own the Phantom of the Opera! What are you doing with that electricity, my good white-coated sir? You surely couldn't be about to…**

_Erik_

Despite Antoinette's warnings, I continued to hate the creature in Christine's old dressing room, simply because she was breathing the air that Christine has breathed, and was living in the space that Christine had lived. It was as a result of this hate that I could not lose interest in her; my need for her to leave meant that I was constantly behind the mirror, watching her, hating her, and willing her to leave. This was my downfall, as she soon grew strong enough to make her way across the room and play the small piano which was in the corner. The haunting melodies would somehow find their way through the walls, so even the lair, my haven, was not free from the music. I would cover my ears, play my own organ, or just try and think about other things, but it was no use.

Some of the tunes were tunes I knew, which went with songs, but I never heard her sing. She never once sang. Part of me was relieved; voices were my weakness, as had been shown before, but part of me, the tiny part of my soul that still had not been quashed by humankind's ignorance, was disappointed. The tunes she played, she played so well, yet it would have been so much better if she had sung. I found myself, foolishly, wanting to hear her sing, as she had an amazing gift with the instrument. But I never heard her.

Some days I delighted in listening to it, some days I would curse whatever had possessed me to build such a thin entrance to separate the passage that led to the lair from room. I would curse myself every time I stopped to listen to the music she played, I would convince myself that it went against my beliefs…the belief that I was separate from everything in this world and always would be.

But another part of me asked: _what harm can it do?_ Enjoying the music she played was not falling in love, it would not give me a broken heart, it would not end up like Christine. I fell in love with Christine after hearing her beautiful voice, and yet this girl did not sing, she did not even speak. A part of me told me I was in no danger. Another part of me told me I was. But I ignored that part.

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_Madame Giry_

As time passed I realised that she would not speak…and it was not long after that I concluded that she was an elective mute. I realised she would not make any sound whatsoever, in my presence, in Nicolas's presence, in anyone's presence.

Unfortunate though this was for her, I believed it to be a blessing for Erik. If she did not sing, there was no possible way that he could become interested in her. The composer in him was a little too romantic at times, but it was Christine's voice that brought him down in the end. I know how much attention he was paying to her, and I dreaded the outcome of this, but it brought just a little more relief to know that that particular scenario would not be replayed.

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_Erik_

I cursed myself as I stood behind the mirror, watching her play. What had possessed me to come here? I was an idiot, and I told myself the very same thing. It's just that…I had heard her play…why could I not see her as well?

I watched her almost white fingers skip nimbly across the keys, saw utter concentration in her eyes. I knew this song, knew when she was meant to start singing, but she didn't. She never even went to sing. I was perplexed that such a song could be played and then not sung as well. It was an insult almost.

When the song was finished, she got up and went to sit on the bed, her lips still remaining tightly shut, as she had never spoken and never would. She got out a piece of paper, and a pen, and began to write.

I don't know why I just stood there, watching her write. I don't know how long I stood there for, but it could have been hours, or seconds. After a time she set the pen down and read what she had just noted down on the paper; I saw her eyes scanning the words over and over again, until suddenly she tore the paper into two and threw it to the side.

Once she was asleep, and I was sure she was asleep, I gently slid open the mirror and retrieved the piece of paper from the floor by the foot of the mirror frame. Joining the two pieces together slowly, I saw scribbled handwriting. Music notes, and song lyrics. The chords look strange to me; unconnected, random, and there was hardly a melody…it simply looked as if it were meant to be played in anger, hitting the keys instead of pressing them. But perhaps that was how it was i meant i to be played…I looked at the lyrics, for confirmation. They were hardly poetic, but they confirmed my assumption that this was not a normal song.

_If I met them,_

_What would I do?_

_I dread to think what I would do._

_The world would not, could not hold me back._

_What would I do?_

_I would claw their eyes,_

_Hang them till nearly dead,_

_Cut them so that they would bleed_

_And bleed, and bleed,_

_Listen to them plead,_

_As I have pleaded._

_That is what I would do._

_And the world, nor no one, could hold me back._

_Forgiveness is the only sin here._

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_TBC_

Once again, if you have reached this point, I hope you enjoyed it and will have some suggestions for me. Cheerio for now!


	4. Curiosity and Anger

_** Thank you once again for your kind words. I am sorry I did not update as soon as I was meant to, but my computer time has been taken up with Coursework for my GCSEs. I will, however, keep posting as often as possible.**_

_**MJ MOD: Once again, heartiest thank yous for reading my little story, and also I am glad you enjoyed it. It's true that in the male dominated world of the nineteenth century, I believe she would have had little help in her situation. More of her past will shortly be revealed, and the true reasons behind her loss of speach will become clearer. In the meantime, I have written some angst that refers to Erik's past, and a certain incident with Javert, based on the Susan kay novel. **_

Disclaimer: I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber, nor Gaston Leroux. These wonderful men in white coats cough have taught me that. There, I said it, now could you please accept me as Susan Kay? Oh come on! Please!? Oh no, not the electricity again, I beg you, plea...

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_**Chapter 4: Curiosity and Anger**_

_Erik_

After that, I knew I should have left her to her own devices. I should have been able to see that there was anger inside of her, violent anger that was just bubbling below the surface for the time being. And she was hurting…badly. But, having had virtually no proper contact with the outside world for many years, I was a little out of practice when it came to human emotions.

Instead I found myself wondering…

Maybe it was the anger that caused her not to speak. Or perhaps it was the pain, the hurt. Or perhaps…perhaps she just didn't want to anymore. I shook my head, as I stood behind the mirror, cursing myself again for where I was. Why didn't I just forget about it? If she had been hurt the last person in the world to be able to help her would be me.

That music, the music that seemed intent on crushing through my mind like a wild horse, killing every other thought in its wake, the music that I tried to block out but never succeeded. This was definitely my one weakness, my love for music. Why could I not just ignore it?

No, I could not ignore such beauty. I cursed my ears, sometimes wished I was deaf so that I would not be able to listen once and for all. I had said that she could stay in that room, that she would be able to reside there for as long as she liked, if only because after reading the poem, I felt a little pity for her…which was more than could be said for a lot of people. That pity was waning. How dare she entrance me so with the music she plays, the music she…writes? Is that music I do not recognise her own?

As she slept, I pushed back the mirror entrance, wincing as it creaked slightly. She stirred in her slumber, moaning slightly. I froze, realising that this was the first time I had heard her make any sound at all.

Once I was assured she would not wake, I stepped out into the room, quickly making my way to the piano in the corner. I knew that for any normal person, it would have been virtually impossible to see in such light, and virtually impossible to walk with such silence. I also knew that I was no ordinary person. I never had been. I was the Opera Ghost, a creature of darkness. I was completely detached from the rest of humanity. My failure with Christine had taught me that.

Snapping out of my reverie, I gently picked up the thin pieces of paper, squinting a little so I could make out the notes in the darkness. I recognised the handwriting from the torn up poem I had read. It was definitely hers. And she had also written lyrics to accompany the songs…there were so many songs. I marvelled at her skill.

I read quickly through the lyrics, and I realised that they grew sadder and sadder as they went along, as they became more recent. The songs from when she first came to the Opera Populaire were a little hesitant, held back, but the songs from not so long ago were heart wrenching. They gave little or no indication of the wrong done to her, but I knew that it was a terrible thing, whatever it was.

Suddenly I head a small moan and I turned, quickly replacing the music sheets back on the stand. In the darkness I could see her face contorted with…what was it? Pain? Fear? She flailed, whimpering slightly. I froze where I was, willing her not to wake, but with each passing moment it seemed more likely that she would.

As quickly as possible, I ran back to the mirror and disappeared down the passageway, closing the mirror behind me as I went.

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_Madame Giry_

I made my way up the stairs, a tray in my hand. Balance precariously on top of it was a plate of food and a mug of soup, ready for the guest in the room. Thankfully, my frustration and stress had waned slightly, as the girl was quickly recovering from her horrific injuries, and Erik had promised to stop pressuring me about changing the room she was in. Perhaps he had found some pity in his heart at last.

I pushed open the door slightly and froze. The girl was already up, her long white nightgown, one of Meg's, trailing along the ground. She made her way slowly to the mirror, tracing the frame with the tips of her fingers. I cursed Erik. I had warned him to stay away from the girl, for her protection, and for his, and now what had he done? I stepped into the room, the floor creaking beneath my feet, and the girl jumped and turned.

I saw behind her that the mirror entrance, which was usually as identical as any other mirror you would ever see, was ever slightly open, just enough for a stream of cold air to have entered the room. I shivered slightly as the icy breath hit me. The girl returned to her bed, sitting up and draping the sheets over her legs. I forced a smile.

"Are you ready for your petit déjeuner, mademoiselle?"

I stormed into the lair, my heart thumping wildly, completely forgetting about the numerous traps that had been set to stop intruders. In my fury, I could not have cared less about them.

Erik was sitting by the organ, hardly moving as his fingers played lightly over the keys. He heard my footsteps and turned, taken by surprise. I hardly ever came down here.

"I told you to leave her alone, Erik," I snapped loudly, my hands now resting on my hips. "For your sake and hers!" He stood up to face me, indignation flaring in his eyes.

"Well, you did insist that she be kept in that room," he said coldly. "And I warned you against it."

"She needs space, Erik, to be away from other people until she is fully recovered."

"She seems well enough to me!" he retorted, the volume of his voice rising as he grew more angry. Normally, at this stage, I would have begun to fear his anger, but my fury was great, perhaps great enough to rival his.

"Physically she may be, but she is far from healed mentally!" I shrieked, looking him directly in the eyes. "For God's sake Erik, the poor girl was raped, her scars go beyond physical!"

The fearsome look suddenly left his eyes and he sat down on the organ stool, averting his eyes from my gaze.

"You didn't tell me she was raped," he whispered, guilt forming in his eyes. Still, my anger was strong, and my fury did not disappear as quickly as his.

"Don't look like that Erik; you have done many bad things in your time, why should a little rape annoy you?" I snapped, intense sarcasm in my voice. Suddenly his eyes filled with hurt, which turned once again into anger, and he stood up.

"You know that's the one thing I have never done, and I never will do!" he said quietly, angrily, and I immediately regretted the words that had spilled out of my mouth.

"I know Erik," I said comfortingly, taking a step towards him but he waved me away.

"I can't believe you would think me capable of such a deed," he whispered, his intense gaze burning into my eyes, boring deep into my brain. I looked away, unable to stand it.

"You should just go, Antoinette," he snapped, sitting back down and turning back to the organ, hammering out a few angry scales. I opened my mouth to reply, but thought better of it and turned to leave, taking one last look back at Erik in his solitude.

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_Erik_

She thinks I am capable of rape. She, who has remained my friend…well, words to that effect…throughout the hard years, she who has only ever betrayed me once, she thinks I can do something like that. Even after…

But that was something I kept from her. She does not know of what happened, or almost happened, that night, in the tent of Javert…

As the thoughts tumbled through my brain, I realised one thing. No true friend could ever think me possible of the thing I had been accused of…the one crime I would never commit, even though once I had come so close to doing it.

So very, very close…

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TBC.

Thank you for your time. As always, constructive criticism welcomed and so on and so forth. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! (Even the angst).


	5. First Encounters

Thank you all so very kindly for your reviews. They are, as always appreciated greatly. This is the "BIG" chapter as it were, and you can guess why probably from the title. I hope you enjoy the nect chapter, and I hope that my work continues to please you. Remember, I love you all. 

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera in any way, as the heartless men in white coats forced me to admit whilst stripping me of my endless Phantom related identities using strong bolts of electricity.

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_**Chapter 5**_

_**First Encounters**_

_Madame Giry_

For a few days since my confrontation with Erik I travelled around the Opera house with fear deep in my soul. I knew I had hurt him, hurt him badly, and I also knew what he was like when he was hurt. He lost control, his anger got the better of him, he was…unpredictable to put it in the simplest terms. As I walked around fulfilling my duties, teaching, dancing, punishing the children of the ballet, I was secretly in constant fear of suddenly feeling a Punjab lasso tighten around my throat. I subconsciously placed my hand to my neck ever few minutes, to make sure that the tightening rope I could feel was just a figment of my overworked mind.

As the days passed, I also grew more and more worried about the girl, who seemed constantly curious about the mirror, which I could tell she believed to be in some way a secret contraption. She may have been silent, but she was unusually intelligent for someone of her age. In fact, as time wore on I began to wonder if she was truly as young as she looked. Her body was slight, her face young, and yet in her eyes there was a sadness that I had never seen in a seventeen year old before, nor an eighteen or nineteen year old for that matter.

Like my daughter Meg, she had locks of blonde hair that reached down to the small of her back and curled naturally at the ends. I would have expected someone with such beautiful hair to have spent much of their time brushing, washing, and taking good care of it. But this girl was different. Her hair was constantly knotted and left to hang lifelessly, sometimes so tangled the blonde seemed a deep mousy colour. I once tried to brush her hair for her, but she just smiled sadly and waved me away.

I was sure that Erik has been watching her. It was true, the music she played was exquisite, so well composed, so unique, so sad, but I was not one to be entranced by music. What worried me was that I knew Erik was very vulnerable when it came to beautiful music. I also felt confused at the same time as worried, because I was under the impression that Erik fell for people's voices (well, a person's voice); I thought that he could only be entranced by their singing.

I realised now that I had, perhaps, been mistaken.

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_Erik_

There was sadness in her eyes. As she stood by the mirror, tracing it with her fingers as she had done for many days, I saw straight into those bright green orbs and saw tragedy. I saw pain. I also saw anger. Red hot anger, that was disguised by a veil of silence…I could imagine all that was needed was the right prompting, and the anger would break free. It would break free dangerously, viciously.

I can relate to that, I thought bitterly, my mind transporting me back to the beatings, the ridicule the humiliation…and the hate.

As she ran her hand over the glass, I saw concentration in her face, as she tried to fathom the mysteries of the mirror.

Mademoiselle, I do not think you shall find it, I scoffed in my mind, for I knew no one had yet succeeded in that particular endeavour, apart from the people who already knew it was there. It felt strange. We were mere millimetres apart, and yet she had no idea of my existence. I was scrutinising her, staring into her eyes, watching her every move, and yet she could not see me.

She had already played that day; in fact she had played for many hours whilst I sat in the passageway, my head turned away from the mirror so I would not see, I would only hear. I knew the words of the song, I had memorised them the moment I saw them. The music was so beautiful, it needed song to finish it, to make it whole. And yet she wouldn't sing.

I saw her sigh as she gave up with the mirror after a long time of thinking and investigation, and make her way back to the piano. As she positioned her fingers over the keys I saw on her bare arms scars from when she had been attacked, from when she had been…violated. Guilt bubbled in my mind as I thought of the times I had loathed her for simply being in that room, with no idea about what she had gone through. My treacherous mind wandered back to my childhood, back to Javert and I shuddered uncontrollably.

She began to play, and the notes and the words of the song began to dance around in my head like a thousand ballet dancers, dancing with such energy and vigour that you could do nothing but stop and admire them. My head cleared of all other thought as I listened, let the music seep deep into my soul. Music, my one faithful companion…and even that had deceived me.

Suddenly the music stopped and my eyes snapped open. I saw the girl had risen from the stool and was making her way cautiously towards the mirror, a mixture of fear and curiosity in her startling green eyes. I cursed under my breath. In a moment of thoughtlessness I had begun to sing along to the song she was playing, completely forgetting where I was. The frustration and anger hit me like a wave of water, and I fought back the urge to hit my head furiously against the brick wall behind me.

She raised her hand to touch the mirror; I saw in her eyes that she knew someone was there. She knew there was a presence, she knew someone had been listening, watching; she knew I was there.

As quickly as I possibly could I fled back down the passageway to my lair.

* * *

_Madame Giry_

I too had heard the singing. I had been in the process of scolding some of the ballet girls who had decided it would be a good idea to take a midnight stroll when I heard the voice. It was unmistakeable. With a few well spoken words I sent the girls back off to their dormitory and hurried as quickly into the room.

"Curse you Erik!" I muttered as I pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold of the room. As I got there I froze.

The girl had her hands pressed against the mirror, gently sliding it open. I could see from her reflection that there was excitement on her face, human curiosity. I suddenly felt an almighty hate for human curiosity. It was that which had led Erik to her in the first place, that which was now leading her to him.

Still, although my brain screamed at me to stop her as she stepped into the darkness and closed the door silently behind her, my heart stayed my hand. I could not stop her, and before I knew it she had disappeared into the darkness. My rational thinking mind took over again, but far too late.

"Have you learnt nothing from Christine, Antoinette?" I scolded myself, clenching my fist. But the girl had gone, and there was little I could do about it now.

* * *

_Erik_

I do not know how I made it back to my lair, but I did, with my heart thumping. I quickly sat down at my organ and began to play. My mind did not register what it was that I was playing, I was simply trying to block out my stupidity.

You idiot! my mind screamed as I hammered the keys. Ever so slowly, my fingers softened and I began to play with the same love and care that I usually do. I became so engrossed in my work that I did not register her presence until it was too late.

The siren got to her first.

The first I heard was a splash, and I turned abruptly, facing the sound. I saw the girl toppling into the water, a hand just visible around her ankle, pulling her down. I cursed under my breath. How could I be so stupid? Whatever had happened to masked genius?

I was pulled back to reality when I heard her scream. She had fought her way back to the surface of the lake, her blonde hair now deep brown with wetness. She screamed again before being pulled down again. All other thought evaporated from my mind, as I threw my cloak to the ground and kicked off my shoes, before leapt into the water after her. She was very deep under the surface, and the eerie waters of the lake clouded my vision. There was silt in my eyes, and I blinked under water.

I could make her out in front of me; the siren still had a strong grip on her pale skin, and she was limp, her eyes closed. I grasped hold of her wrist and tugged her towards me. The siren turned to look at me, and I glared as best I could in the dark, sandy waters. In a flash the siren had let go and vanished into the depths of the lake, and I pulled her towards me, kicking towards the surface with her in my arms.

I took a deep breath as I broke the surface of the water, rubbing my sore eyes with the back of my hand. The girl was limp as I lifted her in my arms and carried her to the shore.

"Your curiosity got the better of you, mademoiselle," I muttered, mentally kicking myself for ever getting involved with her. It was my fault, and now what had I caused? This could only end badly, for the both of us.

She began to cough, ridding her lungs of the lake water, her eyelids flickering open. I stood and walked away, leaving her to get her bearings where she lay. She sat up, taking in the lair with her deep green eyes, shivering as the cold took over her.

"Mademoiselle," I snapped, throwing her a blanket. She caught it in midair, standing up and wrapping it around her thin shoulders, taking a few steps towards me. Her eyes were fixed on the right side of my face, and my hand flew to my face, covering up my deformity. With terror I realised that my mask had come off in the water. I felt my fear soon transform into anger as I turned my back to her.

"Mademoiselle, for your own sake you should go and forget about all of this," I muttered.

_And my sake. Remember what you promised yourself. Let her get on with her own life. That way yours is safe._

I turned back after a while, expecting to be alone, but she was still there, staring at me. Not with fear though. Something I didn't see very often. Curiosity. And was that pity? I turned away at that. I needed no pity, I did not want it…pity was worthless to me now.

"If you wish mademoiselle I shall lead you back to the surface," I turned to face her, and she gave a little smile and nodded in agreement. I held out my hand and she stepped forward and took it. She may be silent, but she was definitely an intelligent young woman. As I lead her through the mass of winding tunnels her eyes widened as she took in the intricacy of my world, the sheer…well…genius of it. I smiled grimly. The wonder wore off after time, and was replaced with hate for the darkness, for the endless solitude.

As we neared the entrance to her room, I turned to face her, my face clouding with seriousness. She stared back with matching sincerity.

"I only ask one thing mademoiselle," she was paying absolute attention, her bright green eyes holding mine in a sincere gaze. "Promise me you will not seek me out again." Her eyes darkened for a moment, as if she was annoyed at being told what to do, and she did not nod. Instead she let go of my hand and pushed open the mirror entrance stepping into the room. As she slid it shut she stopped when it was mere centimetres of closing and locked my eyes in sad gaze.

"You don't have to hide from me, Monsieur," she whispered, before quickly turning away and closing the mirror the rest of the way.

* * *

_Madame Giry_

I was waiting for Erik when he returned to the lair. His face was solemn and he turned away from me sitting in a chair with his head in his hands. I spoke first.

"What happened, Erik," I said softly, accusingly, and he looked up.

"Nothing," he snapped. "I took her straight back to the room, straight after she decided to get in a fight with the siren." My hand flew to my mouth, but I quickly composed myself.

"Is she harmed?"

"No," he muttered. "But I think I'm hallucinating." He put his head back in his hands and rubbed his eyes. I suddenly felt confused.

"What do you mean…" I started, but he cut me off angrily.

"I thought she spoke, but seeing as she's a mute and doesn't even sing, then that would be impossible."

Of all the answers he would give that was the most unexpected. She spoke? I agreed, surely that was impossible? Suddenly my eyes narrowed.

"Erik, when was the last time you touched morphine?" he shot up, anger flaring in his eyes.

"I have not touched that vile substance since before the incident with Christine"!" he shouted, and I took a step backwards, my heart hammering in my chest. "And if I wanted you to be my mother, Antoinette, I would ask you to be!"

I opened my mouth to answer, but again he interrupted me abruptly.

"Just go!" he yelled. "Now!"

I was quick to obey.

* * *

TBC: Contructive criticism most welcomed. Au revoir for now, and update coming soon if you wish it to be the case.


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